Free Tree of Life and Death by Gin Jones Page B

certainly been skeptical about the possibility that Randall Tremain had been killed over a quilt that had a substantial price tag. Alan's grandmother's quilt didn't have that kind of value and would therefore be discounted as a possible motive.
    "I'll mention your theory to the detective," I said, "but only if you promise not to do anything about the investigation without checking with me first."
    Dee said, "But—"
    Emma interrupted, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder for emphasis. "We promise."
    I left them to return to their work—not even a murder investigation could come between them and their quilting—and checked in with each of the other workstations to collect lunch orders. A few of the quilters were actually working—cutting, stitching, or ironing the little ornaments—but most were just trading small talk and looking a little dazed by what had happened on the museum's grounds.
    Carl Quincy had resumed his stitching at the table closest to the entrance, with his dog at his feet. He stopped working just long enough to place his order and let me know that his dog wouldn't be ready for a meal until later, by which time we both hoped the police would have released everyone to go home.
    Trudy was acting as Carl's gopher, taking his finished pieces over to an ironing board and then to wherever they needed to go afterward. She took a moment to consider what she wanted for lunch, but as soon as I'd written it down and asked her if she'd known Alan, she tensed and looked anxiously at the growing chain of pieces that Carl was producing. She produced a seam ripper from the back pocket of her pants and used it to disconnect the chain from the fabric under the presser foot. "I've got to get these over to the ironing station." She glanced around, as if afraid that Jayne Connors was lurking nearby, preparing to pounce on anyone who wasn't keeping up with her assignments.
    Trudy had been through enough today, so I didn't insist on an answer, even though I knew that Jayne wasn't in the room. While I'd been chatting with Dee and Emma, Jayne and Meg McLaughlin had stepped out into the hallway together for a private conversation under Richie Faria's close observation. Trudy reached the safety of the nearest ironing station before Jayne and Meg came back inside the boardroom. Jayne's face was red and blotchy, like she'd been crying or at least was furiously embarrassed. Meg wasn't wearing her Santa hat and the red pinafore-style apron any longer, presumably because they were too frivolous for the current somber mood in the room.
    I nodded a greeting to Jayne and introduced myself to Meg.
    "I've heard so much about you," the quilt instructor said. "Dee and Emma just adore you. They think you're going to be more famous than I am among quilters someday."
    "They do have a tendency to get carried away with their enthusiasm," I said. "I doubt an appraiser will ever be more interesting than an artist. They've been very complimentary about you too. I hope I'll get a chance to see some of your work at a show sometime."
    "I'd be glad to give you a private showing at my home studio sometime." Meg turned to her assistant. "Maybe Jayne would join us and bring some of her quilts to my house. Then you could see some really extraordinary quilts."
    Jayne's face turned redder, but this time it was for happier reasons. When she spoke, she sounded subdued, but nothing seemed to extinguish the shrill tones of her voice. "I wouldn't have finished even one quilt if it weren't for Meg's advice and encouragement."
    Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Fred becoming restless. He was going to start licking the sugar off the plates soon if he didn't find some better way to keep his nerves under control. I needed to wrap up my conversation with the last of the quilters and get back to him. I explained to Meg and Jayne about the lunch order I was compiling, donated by someone who preferred to remain anonymous.
    Jayne perked up. "They do the most amazing